


Shining Through

by Rubynye



Category: Historical fiction -- ancient greece, Original Work
Genre: Anacreon, Ancient Greece, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Gangbang, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 21:39:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17536736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: "Herotima, whom all men would ride."





	Shining Through

**Author's Note:**

> Written years and years ago, posted for the amusement of whomever pops by. 
> 
> Inspired by this poem:
> 
> O Pretty Child...
> 
> O pretty child,  
> your little heart will tremble before many men...
> 
> Your grandmother thinks  
> she is raising you among the lilies  
> as a sensible girl, but you have slipped down
> 
> to the flood-fields of hyacinth  
> where Kypris has unharnessed   
> her horses, and hitched them on a rope.
> 
> And you have burst, little foal, into the middle  
> of summer, exciting the hearts  
> of many idle poets,
> 
> Herotima, whom all men would ride. -- Anacreon

Herotima stopped running for a moment; what good would it do her to arrive exhausted? Not that she knew yet where she was going, but she trusted her moira, and her moira sang to her that she was going someplace important, someplace away from her childhood and towards her future.

And away from her grandmother. Ever since Herotima had turned thirteen all her grandmother could talk of was that she must be *careful*, and *guard* her *value* (meaning her maidenhead), as it was almost all her dowry. In her calmer moments that advice made some sense to Herotima; her mother had been a free and wandering spirit who had collected four surviving babies and turned them all over to her mother, Herotima's grandmother, before dying beautiful, young, and at the hands of a lover. Though her grandmother hadn't yet turned forty when the last of them had been born, she grumbled endlessly about having to raise four rambunctious children in her old age; Herotima, wild incautious Herotima, was her special vexation. And Herotima did not often have calm moments.

She was rather deep into the woods by now, and the sun was rising towards noon, so she sat down on a sun-dappled rock, fanning herself with the edge of her gown and cooling her feet in a small mossy stream trickling by its base. Her back still tingled where her grandmother had beaten her, after having discovered Herotima kissing the younger son of the family two farms down; her grandmother wasn't really strong enough to break the skin, and Herotima was mostly just piqued, at herself for getting caught as much as at her grandmother for spoiling her fun. She had turned eighteen last month, and despite cooperating with her older sister to help each other have romances, had managed no more than two love affairs in her short life before her sister married and she found herself without an ally. This could have been the third, but now the poor boy was quite scared off, and Herotima knew she'd find no ally in her brother or younger sister, who had believed their grandmother's conservative claptrap.

Herotima didn't. And her moira was calling her on, so she got up again and ran off on her way, galloping for the joy of it like a filly stretching her legs.

She heard voices. Men's voices. But before she thought to stop she had skidded right into a large glade full of men, the glade often jokingly referred to in her villiage as the "Agora" . It was a meeting place for several villiages around, providing a kind of intellectual critical mass that let the villiages rise culturally towards the level of small towns, and it was usually full of men relaxing for awhile. It was the kind of place where respectable women didn't go alone or for very long, and respectable unmarried girls went not at all.

Herotima stopped as conversation swirled to a halt around her. The men were looking at her, maybe ten in this part of the Agora, as was the only woman she saw, a polished-looking lady of middle years with her shawl thrown over her head to protect her fair skin. Herotima looked around her, chest heaving as she caught her breath, and saw how the men were looking at her. They were smiling. They looked like hungry diners whose lunch had just arrived.

One man, his blonde hair shining like Apollo's, approached her confidently and bowed low. "Greetings, fair nymph," he said, smiling, but not as if he were mocking her, and kissed her. Surprised, Herotima found herself kissing him back, even though she didn't know his name and had never seen him before. He kissed well, pulling her body tightly to his, and Herotima felt herself catch Aphrodite's holy fire as her nipples hardened against the blonde young man's chest. Suddenly she wanted nothing more of life that day but to lie with this young man and anyone else who wanted her. 

The kiss ended as another man, black-haired with blue eyes, put one arm around both Herotima's waist and the blonde man's, and as she turned her face to his he smiled and kissed her too, their tongues touching. Using one hand each the men pulled out her fibulae as she was gently pushed back into the arms of a third man, sitting on his lap on a grassy knoll. Warm against her back, he kissed her neck as her dress slipped away from between her skin and several pairs of hands; she heard the men talking to each other, calling her "the nymph" and "the maiden", as she was kissed by several mouths, stroked all over by more hands than she could count, hands that fondled her arms and legs and stroked her breasts and tweaked her nipples and gently parted her thighs and stroked the kernel of her womanhood and slid up into her, as she gasped against the mouth of whomever was kissing her that moment, and clenched around the two fingers within her and reached her first peak.

The person kissing her murmured against her mouth "magnificent", as she was lowered to her back and a penis pressed against her lips. Eagerly she opened her mouth to it, sucking on it as she reached with one hand to the man's eggs, her forehead against his thighs, as he stroked her cheek and crooned to her. Someone picked up her leg, and the fingers within her were replaced by another penis, and Herotima found herself being fucked by two men at once, something she'd never done before but which fit the wildness in her soul perfectly. As the two men started a "push me-pull you" stroke, she thought she could hear them kissing above her, but didn't care to stop sucking to look; she gave herself over to the goddess and their lust, wrapping her legs around the man who had her quim, and her own lust and excitement brought her to two more peaks before both men reached theirs, nearly at the same time.

As the man she'd been sucking on let her go another took her head in his hands and kissed her. "Open your eyes, my pretty one," he whispered, and she did; it was the blonde Apollo again, and he smiled at her. "Turn over for me?" he asked, and obediently she did, lying on her stomach and leaning on her elbows to look up at him. She felt another man grasp her hips, but when she started to turn to see him the blonde man held her head and her gaze. "I want to watch your face," he told her, and she smiled and nodded, not saying anything, but it hardly seemed necessary. Then she gasped, closing her eyes in pleasure, as the next man thrust into her, clutching her hips, and all the while she could feel the blonde man holding her cheeks and kissing her neck and breasts as he watched her.

Herotima's afternoon faded out into a blur of men and pleasure. When she was on her stomach she couldn't see which man was behind her, and for some reason that excited her more; she could tell them apart, though, by their smells, their moans, their rhythms, the way they held her and where, whether they grasped her at her waist or low on her hips, and the way they felt inside her. Especially the way they felt inside her; soon she had entirely lost track of a count she wasn't really bothering to keep anyway.

At some point the blonde stood up, and she sucked on him as someone else had her from behind. "He's lasted longer than his compatriots," Herotima considered with the last bit of rational thought not washed away by her almost continuous peaking, "though that could also have been because I'm hardly paying full attention to him." His was the last; maybe he was a local noble so they were according him that small honor, Herotima thought, smiling as he kissed the back of her neck, and lying still for a moment as the late afternoon sunlight stroked across her skin. 

Then she sat up, and looked around her, feeling slightly dizzy with wonder in the aftermath of her wild afternoon, feeling god-ridden, her nerves sweetly scorched with pleasure. The 'agora' was nearly empty; the blonde Apollo was standing in one corner with a woman, the woman she'd seen before, who was holding Herotima's dress folded in her ivory arms, and they were both smiling at her. "Impressive," said the woman, as the pair walked over; the blonde man handed Herotima her dress but looked at her as if he would be very sorry if she put it on, and she blushed at him, suddenly feeling shy. The wind whispered across Herotima's skin, drying sweat and other fluids onto her, and she was suddenly and acutely aware that she was naked and rumpled and had just lain with a number of men she didn't know. Why did gods always leave one with the embarassment afterwards? 

"I have never seen such natural talent, my dear," said the woman, handing Herotima her pins as the girl quickly wrapped her dress around herself. "Presence, skill, and you look beautiful wearing nothing and take your own pleasure honestly. The only thing you did wrong was in collecting no money from all your friends this afternoon, and, fortunately, more experienced friends of yours thought of that." The woman showed Herotima a small, heavy-looking purse, but made no move to give it to her, so Herotima didn't reach for it, but waited. Her moira was tingling again....and the blonde man was grinning ear to ear. 

"Now, I can give you this," the woman went on evenly, "and you can take it home to your family, and explain this afternoon, if you like." Herotima felt a pang at that, but a surprisingly mild one; her grandmother would never take her back after such an 'exhibition', as the old bat would put it, but, then, she felt disinclined to return. "Or this can be your fee to me as your teacher, and I can instruct you in how to be one of the most splendid courtesans this island's two cities have ever seen. You're starting late, but I think you already know much of what you need to, and I can teach you the rest."

Herotima didn't need to be asked twice. A courtesan! Not just a streetwalker, who sold herself in half-hour blocks, but a woman of grace and charm and talent, who cultivated men's friendships and could even pick and choose! "oh, my lady! I would love to be your student! I don't even need to go home; I only have three other dresses anyway, all plainer than this."

The woman laughed. "Then come with me, and you will have a dozen dresses, fine and silky and sheer as watered wine. You look like a young Aprodite mother-naked, you'll be magnificent. Tell me your name, child."

"Herotima, my lady."

"I am Psyrne, and my brother Apollodixis you've already....met." Apollodixis, aptly named, winked at Herotima, who smiled back, blushing still but much more comfortable already. Giving her hands to Psyrne and Apollodixis, Herotima rose and left the 'agora', a very different way than she had come.


End file.
